


The Care and Keeping of Quentin Coldwater

by machtaholic (cinderella81)



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Comfort, M/M, Pampering, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 02:51:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14416095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderella81/pseuds/machtaholic
Summary: Set after 'Mendings, Major and Minor'.  Quentin is not okay and Eliot helps in his own very special way.





	The Care and Keeping of Quentin Coldwater

**Author's Note:**

> My first dip into writing for this fandom. I binged the first 2 seasons in less than a week and got bit by this idea. The idea started off a little crackier than what it turned into, but I like what it morphed into.

“Q’s not okay.” Margo sipped her wine and watched Quentin shuffle down the stairs of the Physical Kids’ cottage.

“Of course he’s not okay,” Eliot replied, pouring himself a second, no third, glass of wine. “He’s got depression hair and hasn’t changed his clothes in, like, three days.”

Margo reached over and snatched the glass from Eliot’s hand. “So?”

“What?” Eliot said.

“Give him a glass of wine and fix it, El,” Margo said. “Fix it the way I know you can and the way Q needs.”

“Ugh, fine.” Eliot stood and snatched his glass back from Margo before going to fix another glass for Quentin. He found Quentin on the window seat, knees to his chest, hair falling in his face.

“Go away,” Quentin muttered.

“Nope.” Eliot sat on the window seat facing Quentin. “Have some wine, Q.”

Quentin shoved his hair out of his face, grabbed one of the glasses and downed it in three swallows. “There, happy?”

“That was mine,” Eliot said.

“Sorry.” Quentin stared down into the empty glass. “I’m just -”

“In a depressive episode,” Eliot finished. “I happen to have firsthand experience.”

“It’ll pass,” Quentin said.

“It would pass faster with help,” Eliot said, handing Quentin the other glass of wine. “Trust me.”

“I do.” Quentin drank the second glass of wine and glanced up at Eliot. 

“Of course you do.” Eliot stood and offered his hand to Quentin. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” Quentin asked as he slipped his hand into Eliot’s.

“We have some work to do and we can’t do it down here,” Eliot said, tugging Quentin to his feet. “Margo, I’m taking the book!”

“Return it from whence it came when you’re done!” Margo called back. “And have fun!”

“Always!” Eliot said as he tugged Quentin up the stairs and into his bedroom.

“What are we doing here?” Quentin asked, turning in a slow circle in Eliot’s bedroom.

“First things first, you are going to my en suite bathroom and taking a goddamn shower and washing your hair,” Eliot said. “No offense Q, but you stink.”

“Thanks,” Quentin said, making a face.

“Friends tell each other the truth. I’ll find something you can wear once you’re out, now shoo!” Eliot shoved Quentin gently in the direction of his bathroom. Once he heard the water start, Eliot ran to Margo’s room to grab a book before returning to his room, rummaging through his drawers and finding a pair of underwear and sleep pants for Quentin to borrow. He set the clothes on the sink in the bathroom and then went back to his bed, and the trunk he kept underneath it.

Eliot pulled the trunk out from under the bed and opened it, staring at its contents. A quick look in the book and a review of a few of the marked pages and soon Eliot had all the potion ingredients set out on his vanity. He changed into his own pajama pants, then heard the water stop and sat on the bed to wait patiently.

A little while later, the bathroom door opened and Quentin stepped out, wet hair hanging in his face, wearing the pants Eliot had picked for him.

“Feel a bit better, thanks,” Quentin said, then stopped and stared at Eliot’s bare chest.

“We’re not done yet, Q,” Eliot said, ignoring Quentin’s stare as he stood and stepped over to his vanity. “Sit.”

“‘m good, thanks,” Quentin replied.

“Except you’re not,” Eliot said. “So, sit. Please.”

Quentin sighed and dropped down on a wide tufted bench, staring blankly at his reflection. “Okay, I’m sitting.” He almost flinched when he felt Eliot run fingers through his hair, then watched in the mirror as Eliot disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a towel and a comb.

“Quentin, can I ask you a question,” Eliot said.

Quentin shrugged.

“When was the last time someone took care of you?” Eliot asked as he gently squeezed the water from Quentin’s hair with the towel.

Quentin shrugged again. “Don’t remember,” he said. “My dad, he didn’t really understand me. And my only real friend growing up was Julia …”

Eliot hummed, then briskly rubbed Quentin’s hair for a few moments with the same towel before tossing it aside and starting to gently detangle Quentin’s hair with the comb. “So never,” he said softly. “You always took care of yourself, or your father, or Julia, but nobody took care of you.”

“Guess,” Quentin said, tilting his head back a bit at Eliot’s gentle ministrations.

Eliot glanced down at Quentin, at his bared throat, and swallowed against the rising arousal. That wasn’t what Quentin needed.

“Well, now it’s time someone looked out for you,” Eliot said as he set the comb down. “I’m going to teach you a couple of potions that Margo and I live by. I would give you my stash, but I figure it would be better to teach you.” He motioned to the bags and vials of potion ingredients on the vanity. “Now, scoot forward.”

Quentin scooted forward a bit on the bench, then blinked when Eliot straddled the bench and sat behind him. “What?”

“We’ll do it together, so you know what to do,” Eliot said softly in Quentin’s ear.

Quentin shivered at Eliot’s warm breath on his ear, the feel of Eliot’s bare chest against his back, and nodded. “Okay,” he murmured.

Eliot smiled and gently talked Quentin through making the two potions, his arms wrapped a bit around Quentin, hands on Quentin’s helping him grind the herbs and mix the ingredients.

“And now, they’re done,” Eliot said. “Well done, Q.”

“You did most of the work,” Quentin muttered. “So, what are they for anyway?”

“This one,” Eliot said, lifting a vial of pink liquid, “is for your hair.”

“What does it do?” Quentin asked.

“Strengthens, keeps your hair from getting too greasy, keeps it from getting tangled, makes it a bit thicker,” Eliot said. “Kind of a general cure all.”

“So what, you drink it?” Quentin asked.

“No Q, you don’t drink it,” Eliot said. “Let me show you, it works best on damp hair.”

Quentin watched in the mirror as Eliot uncorked the vial and poured a little into his hands. His eyes widened when he felt Eliot’s hands in his hair, fingers massaging the potion into his hair. He dropped his head back a bit and sighed as Eliot’s fingers kept massaging, stopping every once and a while to add more potion. The more Eliot massaged, the more relaxed Quentin felt, and he almost whimpered when Eliot eventually stopped.

“You stopped?” Quentin mumbled.

“All out of potion, Q,” Eliot replied softly. “But I must say, your hair looks fantastic.”

Quentin blushed, unwilling to meet Eliot’s gaze in the mirror. “And the second potion?” he asked.

“That one is for your skin,” Eliot said, picking up the second vial, which contained a greenish brownish liquid. “This one you do drink, but I warn you it tastes like almost literal shit. So plug your nose and bottom’s up.”

Quentin made a face, but plugged his nose and downed the potion in one swallow. “Tingles,” he said, making a face.

“Yes, but now your skin will be perfectly moisturized and zit free for six months,” Eliot said. “Margo and I usually celebrate not throwing the potion up with a glass of wine.”

“We didn’t bring any wine up,” Quentin mumbled, looking at Eliot’s reflection in the mirror. “Got anything else to chase the taste away?”

“Only my lips,” Eliot replied.

“That’d … that’d be okay,” Quentin said softly.

Eliot smiled softly and climbed off the stool, moving to stand in front of Quentin. “I’m sure it would be,” he said, taking Quentin’s hands in his and tugging him up. “And I would love to oblige, really.”

“So why won’t you?” Quentin asked.

“Oh Q,” Eliot said, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Quentin’s cheek. “You are totally vulnerable right now and if I were in your place I wouldn’t want someone taking advantage. So, I’m not going to.”

“Ever?”

“Oh trust me, tomorrow we’re going to have a long talk, perhaps without clothes,” Eliot replied as he tugged Quentin over to the bed. “About all the things you want, and all the things I want and we’ll figure some things out. But tonight, tonight we are just going to sleep.”

Quentin frowned a bit as he climbed onto Eliot’s bed and laid down. “Talking?” he said.

“Probably more than just talking,” Eliot said as he climbed onto the bed next to Quentin. “Is it okay if I hug you, Q?”

Quentin froze for a second, blinked a few times and nodded. “Y-yeah,” he whispered.

Eliot smiled and pulled Quentin close, wrapping his arms around Quentin and tucking Quentin’s head under his chin. Eliot closed his eyes and ran a hand up and down Quentin’s back.

“This wouldn’t have been as fun if you’d still smelled like shit, Q,” Eliot murmured, smiling a bit when he felt Quentin laugh. “Oh, and I feel I should warn you that while we’ve been here, Margo has probably been raiding and revamping your closet.”

Quentin pulled back a bit and blinked up at Eliot. “What?”

“You really need to wear more than just baggy and black,” Eliot said. “And now that I know what’s hiding under the clothes …”

“I think I should be worried,” Quentin said, burrowing back into Eliot’s embrace.

“It’ll be fine,” Eliot said, pressing a kiss to Quentin’s hair. “I’ll protect you from Margo.”

“Mmmm … kay,” Quentin murmured.

Eliot smiled and went back to rubbing Quentin’s back until he felt Quentin fall asleep.

“I’m gonna take care of you, Q,” Eliot whispered. “Promise.”


End file.
